


Vital Reckoning

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Begging, Comfort, Crying, Dubious Consent, Lecturing, M/M, Punishment, Scolding, Self-Hatred, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21858199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: The commendation for the Inquisition sets Crowley on a self-destructive spiral. Aziraphale takes him off it again with a painful spanking and a reminder of how he is loved.-Filled for the kink meme prompt locatedhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 243





	Vital Reckoning

_Seville, 1481_

Most of the time, Aziraphale was as nicely contained as chicken in a pasty, all bundled up, warm and with just a hint of gold around the edges to suggest something well-done and delicious. Then there were the times he became angry, and then he filled the space like... well, like an angel of righteous fury who was used to having his battlefield orders obeyed and ill-tempered enough to enforce them if they weren't.

Right now, trapped in the quiet rented room with him, Crowley felt quite a lot like he had gotten into the cage with a tiger,and the tiger looked furious.

“Stop looking at me like that, angel,” Crowley said, trying to brazen it out. “All's well that ends well, yeah?”

“It ended well because I was there to stop that priest from getting after you properly with the holy water,” Aziraphale growled. “It _almost_ ended with you melted into a pile of slime and tasteless clothing. Crowley, what in the world were you thinking, tangling with the Inquisition?”

Crowley shrugged angrily.

“They're meant to be mine, aren't they?” he spat. “I got all the credit, I might as well see what they're made of. Might as well see if they're as good as their rep.”

Aziraphale glared at him.

“They are,” he said shortly. “I have walked through their cells, and everything you have heard is true.”

Crowley shuddered, and Aziraphale pulled himself back, shaking his head.

“Crowley, we both know that you had... had nothing to do with this mess. Why in the name of Somebody are you even in Spain right now? They're witch hunters, and evil or not, they do occasionally manage to spot the supernatural.”

“Because … because, oh, fuck off, angel, you wouldn't understand.”

Crowley wasn't sure he did. He had nothing to do with racks or thumbscrews, he barely liked getting tied up in bed. However, the moment the commendation showed up on his doorstep, he had somehow gotten attached to this particular murderous madhouse. Somehow, it was his now, and he couldn't look away, and he couldn't find the words to explain it to Aziraphale, who had obviously never done anything he was ashamed of.

Aziraphale's eyes narrowed, and Crowley could almost hear his temper crack.

“All right,” the angel said. “You are going over my knee, and you are not getting up until you are properly sorry for what you did.”

Crowley hissed at that, taking a step away from the angel, who he now realized was between him and the door. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“No. Absolutely not. Under no circumstances. I am not some little _cherub_ that needs to get taken in hand. I am not one of your blessed soldiers, and I'm not... I'm not some silly little human who needs smiting to come around.”

“You're not,” agreed Aziraphale. “You are the Demon Crowley, the Serpent of Eden, first of all Hell's tempters, and you have behaved in a matter completely unbefitting of your honors.”

“What do you know about Hell and its honors, angel-”

“You were reckless, and self-destructive,” Aziraphale said, relentless. “You did not take proper care, Crowley, and I know that you know how. You are more clever than what I saw today, and more careful too. Today should not have happened.” A pause, and then more quietly, “You nearly died today.”

“So?”

For just a moment, there was an impression of flared white wings behind Aziraphale, mantled as if over a kill. Birds learned that from angels, Crowley remembered, and in both, it meant _no, mine, mine mine...!_

Then there was just Aziraphale again, face suddenly calm and all anger drained away.

“So you need a reminder, and... given what you have been saying about the rest, perhaps you need to be sorry. And believe me when I say that I can make you sorry enough that you will never need to do anything so very reckless again.”

Crowley felt as if all the air in his body had been squeezed out in a rush. When Aziraphale spoke like that, when all of Aziraphale's heavenly focus was focused on him, he didn't know what he might do. Still he hung back.

“No,” he said, looking down, but they could both hear the tremor in his voice.

“Why not?”

“Because... because you're going to hurt me, it's going to hurt,” and Crowley knew that he was more cracked than he had thought. There was a plaintive quality to his voice, high and almost soft, and Aziraphale gentled further.

“Yes, darling,” he said. “It will hurt quite a lot, and I'm not going to stop until you have properly paid for your transgression. Do you know why?”

“Because you're on a power trip?”

“Crowley, no. It's because I think you need it. Because you haven't been right since that damned commendation. You've been spinning through space, and this will... this will bring you back to ground. And yes. It will hurt, quite dreadfully. But Crowley?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I would not do this for someone I did not love.”

The tears that had been threatening spilled, and Crowley tried to knuckle them away frantically. He couldn't bear this. He couldn't. How dare Aziraphale say these things to someone like him, how dare he find the knife that would split Crowley right open? His face burned with humiliation, his stomach twisted within him, and he might have disappeared for a hundred years if Aziraphale hadn't reached for him, taking him into a firm embrace and rubbing his back.

“My poor darling,” Aziraphale said softly. “Come here. Let me make it better.”

“You can't,” Crowley said, his voice wavering. “You can't. I'm just. I'm... I'm not...”

_I'm unforgivable. I'm beyond redemption. Nothing's going to make me good again, turn me back to what I was before._

“You're mine,” Aziraphale said firmly. 'And when I am done, and when you are sorry, and believe me, Crowley, you _will_ be sorry, it will be over.”

The tears wouldn't stop coming. Crowley could only whisper because otherwise he would sob.

“...Really?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“But it'll _hurt_...”

“Yes.”

“I don't want to.”

“I know.”

There just... there was just no arguing with the angel when he looked at him like that. Crowley could have railed against Aziraphale-Heaven's-soldier for ages. Against this one, the angel who looked at him with sorrow and compassion in those fathomless blue eyes, he had no defenses at all. He swallowed hard. Nodded.

Aziraphale did not smile, but instead only sat down on the only chair in the room. He patted his lap meaningfully, and eyes glued to the floor, Crowley approached him. His stomach was hollow and echoing, but there was a sense of relief there too. He wasn't making the decisions any longer, and that was what he needed.

Awkwardly, he bent over Aziraphale's lap, and then he yelped as Aziraphale looped his left arm over Crowley's narrow waist, bringing him even closer. Held so securely, Crowley didn't have to worry about balance or staying in position. All he had to do was rest over Aziraphale's lap and...

He whimpered softly as Aziraphale worked his trousers down to his thighs. He could imagine how he looked, pathetic little demon about to get the living daylights whaled out of him, and he shut his eyes tightly against it.

“You scared me half to death.”

Crowley's eyes flew open, and he started to tell the angel, no, he was sorry. Then a stunning blow fell hard across his ass, and the words turned into a yelp. It was terribly hard, no warm-up at all on cold flesh, and Crowley got a stab of fear when he realized that the angel meant business.

“I was so afraid. I thought for just a moment that the priest _had_ hit you with the holy water, and I would see...”

Aziraphale struck him twice, two blows in rapid succession, each as hard as the first, and Crowley cried out again. They hurt, oh, they hurt, and now Aziraphale set up a steady rhythm, his hand crashing down against Crowley's reddening ass with a vicious force.

“It made me so _furious_ when I saw how careless you were being. I wanted to wring your neck for taking such a chance, and then... and then you made me so damned _sad,_ Crowley.”

Crowley got just enough breath at that last part to sob. Fuck, fuck that hurt almost as much as the spanking, making his angel sad. His angel should never be sad especially not over-

Crowley shouted at three hard fast blows that landed in the same place.

“I cannot _stand_ you thinking that it does not matter whether you live or die. I cannot bear it, and I won't, and you will not be forgetting this lesson in a hurry, I think.”

The last was uttered in a near growl, and Crowley groaned as the angel's hand came down again and again. His rear felt as if it was on fire, and demonic pride or not, Crowley couldn't stop himself from trying to wiggle away. Instead of letting him go, Aziraphale only took a tighter grip on his middle and kept on blistering his bottom.

“I don't care if you have to stand for the next week,” Aziraphale continued. “I don't care if you tear up every time you even think of sitting down. All that I care about is that you remember this the next time you think that no one will care if you are gone, that you are so unimportant that you can take foolish risks with your own life.”

Crowley choked on his own tears, and Aziraphale was hitting him so hard that he could pretend that it was only for the pain of the blows and not what Aziraphale was saying. He endured the pain because he had no choice, he had no choice in any of this, not in how many blows he took or how much Aziraphale cared for him.

“Angel, angel, please, stop, stop, I've learned my lesson-!”

Another stunning blow that made him howl.

“No, I do not think you have, love,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley felt something in him start to crumble. All of the defenses he had so carefully marshaled against the world were falling, and the only thing that made it all right was that Aziraphale would protect what was revealed, spreading his wings over it as if it were precious.

His skin felt hot and blistered, and just when he knew that he could not bear another moment, Aziraphale paused to wrench his thighs open. With a sinking feeling, Crowley realized that he had been clenching his legs shut, and that the tender skin between them was still white and unmarked.

“Aziraphale!”

“Almost there, I think,” Aziraphale murmured, and then he started striking Crowley's inner thighs, snapping his hand just slightly so that the tips of his fingers stung like hornets. Crowley's entire body shook, too much, too hard, and the tears would not stop. He sobbed, dignity completely gone, and he finally went limp across Aziraphale's lap, helpless and overwhelmed. His rear ached, he was heartsore, and oh Satan, but he was sorry, he was sorry, he was _so sorry..._

“ _There_ you are my love,” Aziraphale said, and when Crowley cringed from the next blow that was surely coming, he cupped a gentle hand over Crowley's rear instead. “Thank you. Thank you for taking that. I can see that you are sorry, and you took that so very well for me.”

Crowley couldn't respond. He was sobbing hysterically now, his whole body jerking with sobs that would not be comforted until Aziraphale lifted him up with the utmost gentleness and carried him to the bed. Crowley moaned piteously when his blazing rear brushed against the rumpled blankets, and Aziraphale allowed him to twist onto his belly.

It came to Crowley how humiliated he should be, flat on his face in a cheap little inn bed, trousers still pulled down to his thighs and his ass glowing red. It wasn't the image he wanted to present as the Demon Crowley, Hell's own best tempter, but that wasn't who he was right now. Right now, he was just a bundle of spent nerves and exhausted sorrow, too pained and agonized to do anything but cry himself out.

When Aziraphale came to sit on the bed, Crowley didn't even wait for an invitation before he crawled across the angel's lap, burying his face in Aziraphale's strong thighs. He knew what came next, what needed to come next, and Aziraphale responded to his silent entreaty.

“My perfect boy,' Aziraphale murmured. “You took that so very well, and I am so proud of you. You did something dangerous, but you will never do it again, will you?”

“No,” Crowley promised in a hoarse whisper. “I promise, never again. Angel, I'm so sorry-”

Aziraphale cut him off with a gentle kiss to his head.

“You are forgiven now,” Aziraphale said. “You have paid for your transgression, and it is over now. Such a good boy, _my_ good boy, and I care for you so. I will never allow you to be hurt, even if you are the one that wants to do the hurting. I love you, and you are forgiven, and it is over.”

Aziraphale repeated the words over and over again, threading his fingers through Crowley's hair. Crowley slowly stopped crying, but he kept his face pressed against Aziraphale's thigh. He was so sore that he knew that he might not sit comfortably for a week or two, and soon enough, dark bruises would bloom on his rear if they weren't there already. It would mean two weeks of gingerly pulling up his trousers and wincing when he brushed against something unawares. Riding was right out, as was sex unless he wanted to field some truly awkward questions. It wasn't even something as dignified as a caning or a birching across the back. He had gotten his ass beaten like a straying apprentice, and the embarrassment of it would echo long after the bruises healed.

But...

He felt clean and empty. For the first time since the commendation had landed on his doorstep, the voices in his head were gone, and the claws that tore at his heart were still. It was all quiet, and all he could hear was Aziraphale's soft sweet voice telling him he was loved, he was good, and he was forgiven.


End file.
